Nobody could accuse the Germans pouring into London this weekend of lacking a
sense of humour.

Not when half of them turned up wearing those shorts. At the Globe pub on Baker Street, the traditional last watering hole before taking the tube to Wembley, I tried out this topical gag on three Bayern Munich fans.

“A Portuguese, a Greek and an Italian all go out together to a restaurant for dinner. Who picks up the bill at the end?” Amid much hooting and high-fiving, the three of them shouted out the answer as one: “The German, of course.”

Everywhere you went in London on Saturday there were German football fans, laughing, grinning, having the time of their lives. On my train coming in from the west in the morning, half a dozen of them got on at Slough.

Around the London Eye the streets were awash with Germans. Westminster Square was rammed with them, many wondering why, if there is a statue of Abraham Lincoln, the saviour of the United States there, how come there is not one of Angela Merkel, the saviour of Europe.

Police estimates suggest there were 180,000 visitors taking part in the Teutonic invasion of the capital. And, one brief flurry outside Wembley apart, everywhere you looked, the overwhelming tone was one of polite good humour. Well, about most things.

“Your beer is no good,” said Michael Scharling, a young chef from Mertensweg near Dortmund. “Honestly, I have tasted stronger water. And €6 for a glass?”

Scharling was unusual among the visitors: he had a ticket for the all-German extravaganza taking over Wembley. “It is my life,” he told me, checking it was still in his pocket. “You could not give me your right leg for it.” My right arm, I corrected him.

“Nor that,” he said. “You could not give me any part of your body.”

It was easy to distinguish the two sets of supporters. The Dortmund fans, kitted out to a man in vibrant yellow, looked as though they were heading to a mass convention of hi-viz enthusiasts.

The Bayern fans were almost unanimously wearing lederhosen; nowhere outside a British suburban barbecue could you ever see so many middle-aged men sporting a three-quarter length trouser. Robert and Steven Porter’s father, however, was an exception. The two lads from Niederhausen were waiting for their old man at the Globe. They said it would be easy to spot him when he turned up: he was the only man in London wearing a Dortmund shirt and lederhosen.

“There is an explanation for that. He is English. He is confused,” said Robert, who was born and brought up in the Ruhr. “Normally, you would never see a Dortmund fan in lederhosen. You see we don’t like Bavaria, or Bayern.” To emphasise his point, Robert – a regular at the Westfalenstadion – explained that he owned a Dortmund shirt with Mario Gotze’s name on the back. But since the midfielder had been bought by Bayern, he refused to wear it. “He could have gone anywhere and we would not have minded,” he said. “Manchester United, Chelsea, Barcelona: no problem. But Bayern? There is only one word for him: Judas.”

Yet any regional distaste whipped up by Munich’s snaffling of Dortmund’s finest was barely in evidence as the two sets of supporters mingled happily in every pub in the city. In the Globe, a group of Bayern fans noting a group of Dortmund fans in the corner, started chanting a Dortmund song at them. The Dortmund fans reciprocated by singing back a Bayern favourite.

“Today in London it is a big German party,” said Uwe Duffner, a Dortmund fan who was standing drinking with two Bayern supporters. “These two are nice guys, but they just don’t understand football.”

Like most of those flooding the capital, Duffner did not have a ticket for the game. He wore a lapel badge on his jacket which suggested he was prepared to pay anything for a spare. Anything?

“Well up to £700,” he said. “But don’t write that. If my wife reads this she will kick me.” He would have been lucky with that budget. Outside Wembley, the going rate for a ticket was £1,000, though most thought that price would eventually come down.

“The Germans don’t pay a lot for their football, remember,” said Michael Scharling. “I think your English touts are very fortunate if they will get these prices.”

Ah, the ticket prices. Since the final at Wembley became an all-German affair, we in England have been seized by a sense of inferiority. Everything about the German game has been talked up as superior to our own: the finance, the fan culture and particularly the cost. Yet what was clear, speaking to the visiting Germans in London, is how much they appreciate the English game.

“We love everything about it,” said Maurice Braun, a Dortmund supporter. “The atmosphere, the stars, your – how you say – kick and rush. We love England.” And, as if to prove the point, he and his friends started up a chant which quickly spread around the pub, a chant which rather summed up the day. In perfect English, they sang: “Football’s coming home”.